


Secondhand Smoke

by Edwardina



Category: Glee
Genre: Coda, Dirty Talk, F/F, Infidelity, PWP, Public Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-21
Updated: 2011-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>301 coda: Rachel goes back to talk to Quinn again.  Quinn's got her chain-smoking, dominating bossy boots on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secondhand Smoke

"Do you live here now, or something?"

Quinn looked up to see Rachel's undeniable silhouette – bangs, too-long skirt, the entirely wrong length of sock, _loafers_ , ugh – there in the very last of the September twilight, anchored by the stadium lights. She sighed, breath issuing out a puff of smoke. Most kids saw the invisible _I'D TURN BACK IF I WERE YOU_ sign, but Rachel Berry was just the kind of drama freak who saw signs like that and knew that path promised the most drama.

"What do you want, Rachel," she asked. She didn't even bother to make it sound like a question.

Rachel took a few tentative steps forward. "I'm just concerned about you, Quinn... it's really late, why aren't you heading home?"

She peered around in the relative darkness, arms crossing over her chest, and Quinn just tilted her chin, watching her.

"They're not here," she said, leaning against the metal pole that was one of many suspending the bleachers above them. "You don't have to look so freaked."

"I'm just worried about getting shanked," Rachel said, as if it was totally plausible, which... Quinn guessed it was. She didn't really know what Sheila would do. "I mean, my voice does carry, so people would undoubtedly hear me scream, but then again, this is pretty isolated area... which I guess is kind of the point, right? You don't want to see anyone after last year and the year before that. You don't want to see any of us. You don't appreciate that I'm here, again, to try and convince you how much we all want you to come back to where you belong! Glee club! Kurt and I are planning this amazing rendition of –"

"They're called the Skanks, not the Shanks," said Quinn, cutting over Rachel's heart-clutching ingenue earnestness without much caring or energy. She lived on coffee and Red Bull, Marlboros, and Bikini Kill these days.

"But Quinn. You're not a skank," said Rachel quietly. She was creeping ever-closer, treading the ground between them lightly like it was quicksand she might sink into. Quinn blew smoke in her general direction.

"Of course I am," she returned, and wished Rachel would go away and leave her alone to think and smoke and think some more and smoke some more and make her mom totally frustrated. The Oxyclean whiteness of Rachel's prim skirt with its smart black striped trim was bothering her now that she was used to ripped tie-dye skirts in rainbow puke colors and ombre shades rippling through clothes due to pure wear and tear. Who knew all the awesome stuff was at Goodwill? Bonus points to Sam for the tips. Bikini Kill and Goodwill. She continued thoughtlessly, as if talking to herself. "I cheated on Finn with Puck. Finn said he loved me, and I had Puck's baby. I didn't even want her. Sam said he loved me and I threw him away. Then I cheated on Sam with Finn. For fun."

"I don't think that's true," said Rachel.

"Yeah, Rachel? Well, I don't really give a shit what you think."

She finished off her cigarette with one final drag, then tossed it to the cement below and stamped it out under her boot with a delicate twist of ankle. Almost immediately, she was fishing for another one, not totally understanding the continuous need to be smoking, but not feeling at ease without a cigarette in her hand and smoke in her lungs.

Rachel watched her despondently, then said, "You're not going to scandalize me, you know. I can see right through all this! The pink hair, the carefully-chipped black nail polish, the smeared eyeliner and lip stain – even the split ends – it's all perfect. You're still nailing your look! You're still perfectly on-point! You may not be a Cheerio anymore, Quinn, but it doesn't matter what outfit you have on. You're still you."

"And you're still you – obnoxious, as always. Just this one time, please, I wish you'd stop acting like you're such an expert at life," said Quinn. She still hadn't gotten the hang of cupping her hands around her lighter and cigarette and getting it lit – it took her a minute, made her feel like the poseur Rachel was pegging her for. Her hands were shaking slightly. The way the light was cutting over her in stripes between the bleacher seats didn't help matters. It was like it bent space in a weird way.

To her surprise and slight dismay, Rachel finally stepped in close enough to help her, cupping both of her small, delicate hands around Quinn's to block out the breeze that was making her flame reluctant to lick the cigarette. It finally caught. Rachel's nails were a pale porcelain pink.

"Smoking is terrible for your voice," Rachel rebuked.

Quinn blew smoke right into Rachel's face. She was that near, now, and it would teach her a lesson about getting too close. Rachel choked, blinking away tears that rose rapid-fire in her big liquidy eyes, and let out a satisfying cough.

"Good thing I don't care about my voice," rasped Quinn, slipping her lighter back in her bag. "You better not breathe my air. They say secondhand smoke is just as bad for you."

"I won't stop asking you about glee," coughed Rachel pathetically. "Everybody misses you. We need you, Quinn."

"No one needs me. No one misses me. Listen to you, still running your lines." Every word Quinn was saying came out a shape of smoke that hit Rachel in the face, framing her softly. It would stick in her hair, in every fiber of her stupid dress. Her gay dads would smell it on her and freak, like Quinn's mom continually tried not to but clearly did anyway, and try to talk her into therapy. "What is it this time, Munchkin Land? 'We're going to win Nationals this year because we have you'? 'We need you to beat Vocal Adrenaline'? Get some new material. I'm bored."

"Okay – shut up!" Rachel snapped.

"There you go."

"And st – stah – stop it, stop breathing your sm- _hoh_ ke at me," she added in a coughing wheeze, as another puff of smoke got blown right in her eyes. This was a little bit too much fun. Quinn allowed herself to smile. Rachel was right about the lip stain. It was awesome. It didn't even leave a pink ring on the butt of her cigarette. She felt like the caterpillar in _Alice in Wonderland_ , breathing colorful Manic Panic truth bombs from her gently-smiling jaws onto prim-and-proper, who was creeping where she shouldn't be creeping, talking about stuff she didn't understand. _Oh, dear! It's so confusing!_

"It's fun to dirty you up, Rachel," she laughed, feeling her own voice indeed, ruined, by all the chain-smoking she'd been doing lately. "Now get lost, or I'll set fire to your skirt."

"I don't believe you," Rachel insisted, with serious, stubborn, annoying certainty. "You're not really one of these girls. I'm sure you find it comforting, being down here under the bleachers, hanging around like bats, but it's not you –"

"You don't know me. You don't know what I've been doing this past summer," Quinn said, suddenly angry. She stepped forward and Rachel back quickly, like she did perhaps fear for her skirt. Oh, it was on now. It was _on_. Knee socks? Too-sweet little '50s schoolgirl dress and cardigan? _Penny loafers?_ "If you're trying to get me to slap you again, it just might happen."

"You don't scare me, Strawberry Alarm Clock Fabray."

"My God, if you're going to bother to insult me, please at least get your references right!"

"Aha! Perfectionism! Perfectionism!! I knew it," Rachel gloated, pointing at Quinn accusingly. "It's all an act! The nose ring really sells it, but it's all just a big act!"

For a moment, Quinn froze, her cigarette bobbing tremulously in her uncertain fingers. Not even the Skanks, who had been non-judgmental and accepted her without too much complaint or fuss into their fold of rebel pseudo-goth-rock-slut-girls had bothered to care whether or not she was the real deal or just convincing at playing her part. Not after the Lucy Caboosey scandal. Not after losing Prom Queen during the most humiliating prom night possible. They'd all assumed, partially correctly, that she'd flipped out and was now a couple of screws loose, angry at The Man. And she was. But she was also just plain sad. And scared. And she didn't want the world to see it.

But Rachel did.

Rachel always saw right through her, and Quinn always saw right through Rachel, too.

"An act," echoed Quinn, the words velvet in her throat. She felt her body propelling her helplessly, as if she'd just been tossed by four Cheerios into the air and she was coming down hard, now, with no one to catch her. "I've changed. I don't care about pulling together the perfect outfit. I don't even care if I wear clean clothes. Earlier, I broke into Puck's locker and stole the lunch money he stole from special ed kids and nerds, and I used it to buy cigarettes. Over the summer, just for fun, I made out with Santana. But I didn't just make out with her. I let her go all the way. I didn't give a fuck. My body hasn't ever been mine anyway. I mean, what is it? Just a sack of bones."

If it was possible, Rachel's eyes were getting huger and more owlish than ever, red-rimmed though they were. Her glossy mouth had dropped open in surprise.

"And you know what?" continued Quinn, thoroughly enjoying the shocked response. She let every word come out of her mouth in a dark, seductive way. "I liked it. I think I might do it again sometime. Mack's been eying me for a while now. Maybe I'll take her to a truck stop and see what happens."

Rachel didn't seem to feel the smoke that caressed her face and hung on her hair. "You're just... saying awful things, trying to get me mad enough to leave."

"You think everything's about you," Quinn tossed back. She tilted her head teasingly and looked at Rachel with an unfathomable gaze. It was a familiar movement, although she hadn't really used it in a while. It always used to make Sam lose his train of thought. Puck would know it was a green light. Finn would look utterly confused. She let edges of her teeth show in a tiny, calculatedly inviting smile. "Wanna see how much I've really changed compared to you? Wanna let me get you dirty?"

"You know this whole good Sandy/bad Sandy/'tell me about it, stud' thing's been done before to much greater effect by both me and Olivia Newton-John?" Rachel asked, before Quinn grabbed hold of her by the hips and swung her right around.

Rachel's skirt spun fairly gracefully but she looked flummoxed as her back hit the pole where Quinn had been leaning – and also like she was expecting another slap to the face, judging from the way her hand flew up to cover her nose. Quinn rolled her eyes, but in truth, she was having too much fun riling Rachel up. _If you play with fire_ , she felt like singing in Rachel's direction... only, she didn't sing anymore.

"Come on, Rachel," she whispered temptingly. It was half her own sense of power, her own carefully gleaned knowledge of what to do and say, and half all the guys she'd ever been with, wanting and wanting and not caring if it was a big deal or not. "I know you want to let me touch you, just to see what it's like."

"You smell like the outside of the bowling alley," managed Rachel. She really wasn't playing along.

"You smell like virginal ignorance. And..." Quinn paused to take a sniff, and she identified the scent immediately from all her years of _Seventeen_ magazine-subscribing and mother-daughter shopping dates. It was a gloriously pink-smelling scent, floral and warm and fresh. "Clinique Happy Heart... and – Downy dryer sheets – and Finn's mouth on yours. I mean, I can _smell_ him on you, I know that Axe and Aquafresh and athlete's foot smell – and soap. My friends are right, you do reek of it." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "But under that, I can smell your pussy."

She raised her cigarette to her lips and took in a good smoke, just watching Rachel's face go through obvious disgust, shock, self-consciousness, and a quick flash of worry that maybe Quinn was right.

"It smells sweet," Quinn told her, biting the inside of her lower lip flirtatiously, and lowered herself gracefully to her knees uncaring of whether or not she tore or stained her limp rag of a skirt, staring up at Rachel with a smile. She felt like a cat playing with a mouse, just dangling it from its paw. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, but come on, this was Rachel Berry she was toying with. This was different and exciting and badass and totally Skank. She ran a light, expert hand up Rachel's knee socked calf, enjoying the way her rocker nails looked against the super-prim white and then against the relative summer tan still lingering on the bit of Rachel's knee she could see. Smoke was drifting up from the end of her cigarette and swirling around Rachel's skirt. Oh, it _was_ sweet.

"Give it up, Quinn," said Rachel, disgust and annoyance pitched in her voice. It didn't match the way she was clutching at the pole behind her and in no way knocking Quinn's hand away as it slid up her soft thigh.

"You give it up," Quinn said softly. "Right here. To me. Let me see them Hanes, Rachel. No one's here. No one's ever here this late."

"My underwear will smell like smoke," said Rachel, in the weirdest, fussiest way imaginable.

"And it'll smell like my tongue, and CoverGirl lip stain and come, 'cause if you lift up your skirt, I'll get you so wet, I'll make you soak them," she whispered. It was the dirtiest she'd ever talked, but it felt natural coming out of her mouth when she was aiming the words at Rachel, and it was probably the dirtiest Rachel had ever heard, judging from the way she squeezed her eyes shut and mouthed something soundlessly that looked like a semi-pained, _Oh my god._

Something in Quinn clicked back over. It was time to quit kicking Rachel around like a stupid puppy, lean back and laugh at her and say, _I'm just fucking with you, Rachel. Get out of here._ She knew it. Yet, Rachel somewhat timidly moved one hand to lift her crisp white skirt, pulling it slowly up to her hipbone.

Quinn was dimly shocked, and just stared for a second. She couldn't land on the biggest source of surprise – that Rachel was falling for her bullshit lesbian summer lies and fake flirting and actually obeying her, that Rachel might've been _actually into this_ , or that she herself... might actually be into this too. This was already happening, she realized, in the same way she'd realized it was really going to happen the moment she'd lost her virginity to Puck, and felt her stomach flutter in an extremely tight way. Rachel's navel was enviably adorable. She had the kind of slim young peach-fuzzy stomach Quinn had gone to extremes to attain and never quite recovered. She was wearing baby pink panties, and it wasn't quite dark enough in the Skank Cave to miss the hearts woven into the delicate, silky waistband, dancing all around it. They weren't exactly the kind of panties you'd want your boyfriend to see, but Quinn was still surprised they weren't Snoopy panties or something. The tiny V of them tucking down between her thighs was – untouched, she realized, unless Rachel's stint in the Celibacy Club was all a reptutation-saving lie like hers.

"Are they really unsexy?" asked Rachel timidly.

"Yes," snipped Quinn, not very sincerely. "Good thing I'm going to sex them up for you."

She literally could smell Rachel now, in a secret, private way, more skin and soap and body heat than anything else, and it was that and the reckless desire for ultimate freedom from every pressure, every expectation, that pushed Quinn into it, as inevitable as gravity crushing her to the Earth.

Exhaling dry, smoky breath, she leaned in and licked at that sweet pink V, getting her tongue cottony and tasting Rachel through the fabric: strong and subtle at the same time, sweet and dirty, familiar and different. Rachel clutched the pole and dropped her head back against it with an audible metallic thunk, breath hitching.

"Quinn," she whispered. Scandalized? Enraptured? Either way, Quinn was in the lead and Rachel was just her plaything and it felt increasingly amazing. She rubbed the point of her tongue delicately against the dent where Rachel's flesh parted, feeling it clearly through the thin panties – then harder, dragging the material over her pussy in a slick way, and Rachel gasped like Quinn had electrified her.

"Come on, I _said_ lift your skirt for me," Quinn ordered impatiently, wanting more.

Rachel did. Urgently. With both hands.

It was such a fucking power trip, Quinn could hardly bear it. She tilted in and mouthed lower, sucking the taste of Rachel through her panties and letting her head spin freely. She'd never seen herself doing this (not just with Rachel, but with any girl) but she'd never seen herself with a tattoo and pink hair and soul bond with the Smiths, either, or kicked off the Cheerios, or publicly humiliated whether at prom or wandering the school halls pregnant at age sixteen, or in labor bearing the kid of a guy with a mohawk. Fuck, she could do whatever she wanted at this point. Her life was in complete ruins. She seized this, a sudden lifeline, licking Rachel's panties aside until her tongue was working over warm, surprisingly smooth flesh, opening it up and sliding wetly through desperately-slipping girl-taste. Rachel was trying not to moan or make any kind of noise, but her breaths were still squeaking high-pitched at the ends and her hips moved against Quinn's tongue like she couldn't help it. It got overwhelming fast.

"God, you're wet," said Quinn, her own lips and chin slick, and Rachel clutched her skirt. Feeling increasingly bossy and turned on, Quinn paused to flick her ash and take a quick pull on her cigarette, which was almost gone now, then breathed, "C'mon, Rachel. Tell me how bad you want it."

"I – what??" sputtered Rachel.

"Relax, I'm not dicking you over," Quinn said lazily, looking up at Rachel through pink-tinged bangs with her darkly-lined eyes and issuing her smoke up and away. "I just wanna hear you say something dirty. Since you're a dirty, dirty girl now, letting a Skank lick your pussy under the bleachers, Rachel, and normally, you never shut up."

"Fine. Please. Okay?" said Rachel quickly.

Quinn lifted a brow.

"Look, I've never – gotten this far, okay, I don't know what you want me to say!"

"Easy." Quinn pressed a teasing kiss to Rachel's thigh, moving without thinking to nudge her nose against Rachel's clit, making her shudder. The smell of her was so rich and juicy, and now that she'd worked the crotch of Rachel's panties aside she could see her in full glory, crowned with dark hair but very respectably tidy for someone who never even let her boyfriends go to third. Something about the total unbrokenness of her, the total innocence Quinn was taking from her, was confusingly exciting and made Quinn ache, wishing all of a sudden those stories about Santana were true. Her lips touched Rachel's skin in teasing brushes as she spoke. "Say my name. Tell me how hot it is. Tell me something you'd never say to Finn... or Puck."

Rachel took a deep, desperate breath, dark eyelashes fluttering.

"Please, Quinn," she whispered. "Please. It's so – scary, how good it is – my legs are shaking – I don't want you to stop, please..."

It was a more than adequate response. Quinn exhaled hotly and licked in, gentle as she let her tongue roll in slow little circles around Rachel's clit. She might have never done this before, but she wasn't exactly innocent, herself. She knew what felt good.

Rachel was up on her toes, heels hanging out of her loafers, whimpering continuously.

"Oh, please, Quinn, please, oh my God. I can't believe you're doing this, you're a girl – oh! God! There, Quinn, please, there, right there."

Quinn was wet with it all, now, down her chin and across her nose and in her own panties, throbbing for it. She wouldn't give Rachel the satisfaction of letting her see how much this was getting to her, too, but she found she did want Rachel to come. Just listening to her get nearer was one of the most amazing things Quinn had felt in a long time, and every time Rachel spoke to her she went harder, licked sweeter, came closer to dragging Rachel's panties down entirely and laying her out on one of the dirty, askew benches that had been dragged under there by miscreants before them for better access. She wanted to fuck Rachel with her tongue, fuck her with fingers, feel Rachel's legs around her quivering and hear Rachel begging her up close and personal.

When Rachel came she went shock-silent and Quinn realized she'd somehow slid a thigh over Quinn's shoulder and that she could feel Rachel's muscles pulsing against her tongue in wild little throbs.

Then she realized her cigarette was burning her fingers and tossed its butt to the ground quickly, hissing through her teeth in a weird mix of arousal and pain.

She shoved Rachel's leg off her shoulder indelicately, and for a moment, the sight of Rachel's thigh hitched and opened for her, her white skirt with its black striped trim bunched up in her fists, and her little pink panties pushed aside to reveal her shining slit was the sexiest thing Quinn had ever seen.

She fumbled inarticulately at her bag, looking down with force.

She really needed a cigarette.

She could feel Rachel struggling to stand up straight and trying and pull herself back together; she could feel Rachel staring at her. She didn't have to look to know Rachel's gaze would still be probing and haughty and disarmingly honest, even if she'd just gotten eaten out.

Quinn tossed her hair. She couldn't get a cigarette out of the box. It just wouldn't slide. Finally, it did, and she shakingly fought against herself and the breeze to light it. She didn't know why she was so shaky these days, except for, like, the caffeine and rage and sadness and the fact that she didn't want to go home so she was hanging out under the bleachers with girls that had each come up with a gruesome plan to castrate Puckerman at one time or another.

Again, it took Rachel cupping her hands around Quinn's to get the damn thing lit.

"Don't touch me," Quinn said peevishly, dropping her cheap mini-Bic without care.

"Just let me," returned Rachel in a breath. "Please."

She was on her knees, then, in front of Quinn. The front of her dress was wrinkled, now, distinctly untidy, and she insistently held onto Quinn's hand, even as Quinn brought her new cigarette to her lips, filled herself with smoke, and exhaled it all over Rachel's face. Rachel let her take a few quiet puffs, pressing her eyes shut every time Quinn exhaled.

Rachel finally murmured, "I don't know why you did that, and I know you don't want to hear this from me, but... it was... special. For me. I mean, I've never... you know." Quinn stared at her silently, so Rachel pressed on, "I've never _come_ like that before, and I've never really, for real, thought about being with a girl before, but I have to tell you – and this is something I'd never tell Finn, never – I'm glad it was you. I'm glad you're a girl. There's something really intimate... with the both of us being girls. Don't you think?"

Quinn did think. In fact, she felt closer to Rachel than she'd ever felt to Puck, Finn, or Sam. But she didn't say so.

"And I also have to tell you..." Rachel paused for effect, which always just had the effect of making her announcements fall flat. "I'm going to write an _amazing_ Carly Simon-esque song about it. Like a Carly Simon and Katy Perry blend. Like if they got married, musically speaking."

"Oh my God," Quinn muttered. "I will punch you in the face if you say any more. And if I hear about some song called 'You and Your Ironic Seacrest Tattoo Make Me Reach For the Stars' being sung at Regionals, I will accept Mack's offer to beat you up."

"Okay," said Rachel brightly. "I'm glad we had this talk. It was really... productive."

Then she pecked Quinn quickly on the mouth, made a face, licked her lips thoughtfully – it made Quinn think she could taste herself on them, which made it hard to breathe – and stood again, straightening her skirt with one hand and looking down at Quinn with flushed cheeks.

"You've never looked prettier than you do at this very moment," she added, eyes wet, on the verge of laughing, somehow, or crying. "My knees are so weak right now. I really wish you'd come back to glee."

She held onto Quinn's hand, and Quinn held hers back, but looked away. She wanted to be left alone, but at the same time, she didn't want Rachel to leave her.


End file.
